


Eyes On Fire

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dom Natasha, F/M, Femdom, Impact Play, Not Canon Compliant, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Riding Crops, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Sub Loki, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 12:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6154090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'll seek you out, flay you alive. One more word and you won't survive. And I'm not scared of your stolen power, see right through you any hour.</p><p> </p><p>Title and summary from "Eyes on Fire" by Blue Foundation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes On Fire

The games they played were not for the faint of heart. It pretty much came down to the fact that few understood how the trickster's mind worked, let alone were willing to put themselves at risk if he turned even more dangerous than he was. On Loki's part, he had been fascinated by how Natasha had been able to suss out his motives and play him like an instrument even as she bared her own soul for him to play with. He'd never been willing to do the same, so why should she? It amazed him that he was willing to debase himself in her presence, letting her exert control. He could regain it at any point because of his strength or magic, but most of the time, he didn't want to. He craved her dominance of him like a drug.

He still didn't understand it, and kept coming back for more.

On this particular day, she had him tied up with hemp rope, a complicated series of knots holding his hands clasped together in front of him as he knelt before her, more ropes constricted around the base of his cock and balls like a cock ring. It was obscene and arousing to him at once, especially with Natasha in a long black evening gown and elbow length gloves, riding crop smacking the palm of her hand as she looked at him as if he was an unruly pony.

"You're pathetic. If I wasn't willing to fuck you, no one would."

Loki shuddered at the words; while he had agreed to this sort of play, they still pricked at the insecurities he tried to hide. She was _good,_ and knew just where to stick the knife and twist. He closed his eyes, but then the crop came down sharply on his shoulder.

"You are to look at me, Loki," Natasha said, voice hard and pitiless.

Oh, he adored that tone. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, and it took everything in him to reopen his eyes and look at her without the adoring expression he wanted to give her. She held him tightly with more than just the rope, and just her gaze could be enough.

She _saw_ him, right through him, and would never give him mercy if he didn't deserve it.

And oh, he so rarely deserved it.

The crop lifted from his shoulder, tracing the line of his neck as he looked up at her. The five inch heels gave her more height and forced her calves into lovely, long lines that the dress did nothing to disguise. Natasha kept her gaze on him, and he could feel it like another touch. She brought the edge of the crop to his chin, then to his lips.

Kissing the leather, Loki murmured "Thank you for the reminder."

Her lips curled into an edge of a smile, subtle praise for his thanks on cue. "You deserve more than this. This is nothing compared to the evil you've done."

He knew it, he knew it, and he reveled in the debasement she offered him. It was sick and twisted and wrong, the worst kind of perversion, but he couldn't help himself, either. There were rules he had to follow in this session, else she would cut it short, and he would never find release. He couldn't countermand her, couldn't deny the words she offered him. All he could do was agree. If it became too much, he could say his safe word, but then it all ended. He hadn't wanted a separate word to go slower, to back up a step. That seemed like weakness. All or nothing, as with everything else he did.

"I deserve all you give me," he rasped.

Natasha's gaze was heavy as she looked at him, bound before her. "Tell me your sins, you worthless monster," she demanded. Her tone was harsh and glorious, brooking no argument. The crop slid down from his lips to his throat, and she gave it a light tap. "All of them. Don't lie to me, Loki. I'll know."

Everything spilled out, the real or imagined sins he could lay at her feet. She counted them up, lips curled in disgust. "You're pathetic," she said again. "Filthy. A creature that should be put down. You can't be saved. There's nothing to redeem in you."

Loki wanted to wail, wanted to scream, but _yes, yes,_ yes, this was true, all of it, and this was the only way to curb the roiling need inside of him that he couldn't name. She could take him down, she could cool the rage that simmered beneath his skin.

"Flay me open. Strip me down," he said, voice raw. "I need you to heal me."

That was the cue. And Natasha never missed a cue.

The crop came down over his exposed flesh, over the knots and prickly hemp. Loki kept his chin up, his gaze on her, rapturous and reverent. Her expression never changed, her position never wavered. Every stroke was a masterpiece, utter perfection, and the sting on his skin was building, adding up to wipe him clean in a haze of sensation. Punishment for the awful things he had done, would do, would always do. She was strong and steady, an even tattoo of strikes against his flesh, beating the evil out of him.

When he thought he would cry or come, he couldn't figure out which, she stopped. His breath came in ragged gasps, his skin raw and used. In contrast, Natasha was as elegant and refined as when she started, not a hair out of place, hardly even out of breath. She was glorious, perfect, every inch the queen she could have been in another lifetime.

She ran the edge of her stiletto over his rigid, weeping cock. "You want to come so badly."

"Yes. Yes, please," he whimpered.

The point of her heel dragged along the top of his cock. "Do you deserve mercy?"

"No," he sobbed, tears coming to his eyes. "But please, please, I can't... I can't hold on any longer, I can't do this, I don't know how else to be—"

Down came the crop, a sharp stroke against his already seared chest. "Liar."

"I am a god of lies," Loki sobbed, shaking his head. "But that is truth, the only truth I know."

"Liar," she hissed again, another stroke from the crop. This time it fell across his abused abdomen, the whoosh of air a tantalizing tease over his cock. "You're no god. A creature hiding behind a face that isn't even yours. A monster cloaked in borrowed skin. You can't even claim your own name. So pathetic, your own birth parents didn't want you."

Loki choked, the sting of tears hot on his flushed cheeks. Oh, that _hurt,_ it hurt more than the welts over his skin. Of course she would use his whispers against him, of course she would, she was cruel and merciless and gorgeous and _perfect._

Natasha dropped the crop and grabbed his hair, yanking his head back sharply. "No one wants you, Loki. I'm the only one that is willing to touch you. I'm the only one that will fuck you the way you need it. You're a creature, and you're _my_ creature," she hissed.

"Yes," he sobbed, all artifice gone. "I am." His shoulders sagged a little, but he kept his eyes fixed on hers. "I am yours."

She grasped his throat in one gloved hand, squeezing a little, enough to remind him of her presence, and his heart _sang_ at the contact. He felt scraped raw, inside and out, and there was an odd peace inside his chest. No more lies, no more pretending, no more ego to get in the way of the empty shell he wanted to be. The weight of his plots was off his shoulders, and he could trust in Natasha to keep him from going to far. He didn't have to think, didn't have to plot, didn't have to put on a game face he didn't feel.

"I belong to you," Loki gasped. "Only you."

Her smile was like a golden sunrise burning through fog, and it set his blood on fire. "And now you can prove it to me."

Beneath the dress, Natasha was wearing a garter belt to hold up her black lace stockings and nothing else. She was shaved smooth and bare to him, and lifted the leg she had used to tease his cock, that sharp heel now against his shoulder as she placed her foot down on him. That left her open to his view, and his mouth watered with want. By unspoken command, Loki leaned in and pressed his mouth to the bare mound, lips soft and gentle against her cool skin. His tongue dragged down to the parting of her folds, and then dipped inside to circle her clit. Slowly, slowly, building up the tension the way she liked, he licked at her. She was silent, gloved fingers still tangled in his hair, holding him in place. Loki had no intention of backing away, not when her taste was like mulled wine, a tang that made his blood sing and cock weep.

Knowing what she liked by now meant that Loki was soon pushed against her, so that she rocked and ground against his face, using his tongue like a toy. He was hers to play with, hers to use, hers to reward and punish as she saw fit. And he wanted her pleased, wanted her praise, wanted her to _want him,_ to need this from him. She asked no one else for this, he knew that, he could never scent anyone else on her skin, and he would crawl on hands and knees if she asked it of him just to keep this going forever.

Natasha swallowed down a catlike cry when she came, her entire body shaking. Loki lapped at her, slowing and easing her down from the high. Her expression was pleased, cheeks flushed, and her smile was a genuine fond one.

Stroking his cheeks gently, Natasha murmured "You can come now."

It didn't even take a brush of her shoe against his cock to have him spurt and come. Loki shuddered, still bound by knots and rope, still caught up in the web of her affection and dominance over him. He was drained, all poured out, empty of the evils that would undoubtedly come again and drive him to madness. But for now, he felt burned out and purified under her gaze, her touch steadying him.

She cut the ropes from his body and smoothed aloe over his abused flesh, even taking care to stroke his cock and balls gently. He loved this gentle side of her, the care she took in easing his flesh from the tortures she put him through.

"I love you," he murmured as she tucked him into bed, his eyes sliding closed.

"I know," she replied softly, kissing his forehead. "I'll be here when you wake."

He knew that. She was always there, steady and unyielding. When he lost his way, she would be there to guide him back.

The End


End file.
